A/N:for clarensjoy's hinny ficfest on Tumblr! I got excited and used a bunch of prompts. In no particular order:

- Did you get my note?" 'Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping."

- You were supposed to wear a costume!" "I am wearing one, I'm Harry Potter"

- "I saw that. You just checked me out"

- "Is the cat in a onesie?" "Uh, no?"

- So... hypothetically, if two people liked each other, what would it take to get the stupid guy to kiss the girl, huh?"

- "I think we need some time apart."

- "You're not attracted to him?" "I'm attracted to you"

Lee's annual not Halloween "Fall Costume Party" has already ticked over into hour two when Ginny begins to seriously consider Harry has stood her up. Which is a pain in the arse in her situation because Harry not showing places isn't just an easy "oh my fiance is a selfish prick" event. He could be bleeding and half dead in a ditch, locked in a dark wizard's creepy basement, hanging from the side of the Gerkin with a tiny scared muggleborn in his arms, or any other number of heroic unselfish and decidedly un-prickish activities. In case that seems an exaggeration of Harry's day-to-day exploits, not a single one of those events was an invention of Ginny Weasley's admittedly active imagination.

In fact, two out of three happened the day of their engagement party.

Plus, Ginny knows he's not a selfish arse. Generally, Harry Potter is a considerate and loving partner who's unselfish almost to a fault. And really, if Ginny is honest with herself for half a second, all this ruminating on Harry and his failings or lack thereof is just one big fat distraction from her worry that he is in fact, lying somewhere in a ditch, etc.

Because if she is directly thinking about it, but doing so in a logical and occasionally cheeky manner, her heart won't pound and her palms won't sweat and tears won't rise to her eyes when her engagement ring glints under the low orange lights.

She's wondering whether another shot of firewhisky will make things better or worse when a low voice sounds from over her shoulder. "Did you get my note?"

A grin - wide and uninhibited - rises to her lips. She doesn't turn yet. Just savors the warmth that runs through her now that he's here. Engagement aside, she can't let him know just how soppy he makes her, so she laughs quietly and shoots back, "Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping. Plus anyone outside of work you'd be with is here."

"Pardon me for my thoughtfulness. You're not always the most observant, Gin," Harry says, now directly behind her and close enough that his breath catches wisps of hair that escaped her plait. "For example, you were supposed to wear a costume. A shoddy wig doesn't count."

Ginny sighs and tips her head back to rest on his shoulder, blinking up into his green eyes. "I am wearing a costume - look at my jersey. I'm Harry Potter. The Chosen One, Youngest Seeker in a Century, The Boy Who Lived - twice. Biggest claim to fame - Ginny Weasley's #1 Groupie."

He snorts.

"Ring any bells - wait."

Harry lifts his brows as Ginny twists away to face him fully. "Is that a cat onesie?"

"Uh, no," Harry sniffs, doing an excellent Percy impression, "I am Mrs. Norris."

Some sort of brain numbing dance hit blares over the speakers and Ginny feels as if her entire body will vibrate with the base until her insides are repurposed as outsides. Harry reaches for her, but doesn't guide them from the room, just pulls her closer.

Ginny takes full advantage of the situation, enjoying the view of his long wiry form on the way and then getting her first hand reminder of the feel of him up close and in person. He might be dressed as a cat, but damn if he doesn't turn her to mush and light her on fire at the same time.

When Ginny manages to refocus, resettling her haphazard wig, Harry seems just as lost as she was only moments before. She runs her fingers along the braid that sticks from beneath her wig and twists over her shoulder, grasps the tip, and proceeds to brush it back and forth across Harry's nose. He wrinkles his face up and squeezes her waist. "What gives?"

She fiddles with the zipper beneath his chin. "Nothing?"

Harry shakes his head, a smug grin rising on his lips that leaves her torn between dragging him off for a snog and smacking him. "Don't get all cocky."

"Nope." Harry shakes his finger in front of her face. "I saw that. You just checked me out."

"I did not."

"You think I'm fit - super fit," Harry crows. "So fit that even a cat onesie can't stop you."

"I thought you were Mrs Norris," Ginny says archly. "Besides, it's not embarrassing to think your fiance is fit."

Snickering, Harry leans in and kisses her cheek, snuffling when the cheap wig hairs tickle his nose. Still, he manages to mutter, "It's embarrassing when your fiance is essentially wearing footie pajamas."

"How about we unpack you checking me out while I'm dressed as you?" Ginny snorts, tugging on the zipper at his throat just enough to pull him closer.

"Fine, let's stick with we're just super into each other." Harry smiles. "I like you a bunch, Ginny Weasley."

Ginny lets her hands slip to grasp his, their fingers locking together like puzzle pieces, as she pulls him further away from the undulating dancers. The thumping music is quieter, their dark corner almost beyond the reach of multicolored lights that swirl around the room. Soon enough, Harry's back is pressed against the wall and Ginny is almost too close for him to think straight.

"Nice specs, by the way."

Almost too close. But not quite. If he let Ginny's nearness get the best of him as often as she was near enough to get to him, he'd be a blubbering mess 24-7.

"Thanks," Ginny says, pushing the lens-free frames up her nose. "So. Hypothetically, if two people liked each other - "

"You never said you liked me back."

Ginny pins him with a glare and continues, "If two people liked each other, what would it take to get the stupid guy to kiss the girl?"

"Well I'm a cat right now, so I'm hardly an expert in the ways of human love affairs."

"Wow, you're choosing cheek over a snog in a dark corner?" Ginny smirks, "Or are you creeped out to snog yourself. Might be kind of hot."

"Except - "

Ginny grabs the tip of his nose between her knuckles. "Yes, yes. You're a cat. You could've been me. We could've done a couple's costume," she lets her eyes lose focus for a moment, "We could've snogged each other as each other."

"That is sort of making sense to me," Harry says, gripping her hips, "I think we need some time apart."

Ginny lets out a dramatic gasp, almost losing her precariously placed wig as she tips backward. "No! I almost have your brooding emo boy face down."

"I take it back, I don't want to get married."

Immediately, Ginny's face falls into a soft expression, eyes distant. "Sorry. Too late. We've broken each other in."

"You've heard of the fallacy of sunk cost right?" Harry asks with a grin, the crowd dissipates a bit, a few stragglers stumbling toward the bar, most likely. Lee loves the unpredictability of an open bar at his parties. It's not just a focus on the temporary wildness, Ginny's fairly certain he uses it to get show material, or at least ideas of who to bug to get as guests. Then a few carefully placed questions...

"I can guess," Ginny rolls her eyes, "But we're essentially ruined for anyone else. You really think someone else will find you hot in a Mrs. Norris costume?"

Harry's finger shoots into the air as he lets out a triumphant, 'HA!' that's still mostly muffled by the music.

"Plus all that effort. I'm an 'old has been with sad dreams of grandeur' now," Ginny sighs.

"The irony that Rita Skeeter said that about someone," Harry mutters, ending on a chuckle as he finds the tip of Ginny's braid and fiddles with the strands.

"Gwen was angrier than me," Ginny says as Harry brushes the end of her braid over her nose, "I'm twenty something and she's close to forty."

"Back to the main point," Harry cuts in as he leans closer. "We're not us because we have to be."

"Elaborate?"

"I dunno, you could - that bloke from Quidditch Monthly is a fan," Harry says finally, nudging her nose with his. Harry puts on a nasal tone and parrots, " Though Weasley rides a firebolt, this author finds watching her streak across the pitch akin to a shooting star. "

"Nah," Ginny shakes her head, "Not my type."

Harry reaches to fuss with his hair only to get a handful of faux velvet shaped like a cat ear. "No attraction there?"

"I'm attracted to you," Ginny brushes her finger over his jaw before pulling his gaze back to hers. "Not some swotty bloke who waxes poetic instead of reporting on my gameplay."

"Sunk eight shots in the first forty minutes that day," Harry says.

Ginny surges upward, grasping the back of his neck. Between the two actions she brings their lips together for a short, biting kiss.

Long enough, though, that Harry's a bit dazed when she drops back onto her heels. Honestly, dressing as Harry was her best costume idea yet. Especially if she dresses like 'I can't be bothered' Harry, which of course she did, because she's smart.

Harry blinks. "So me, as Mrs. Norris is more enticing and attractive than your biggest fanboy?"

"Don't forget quoting my Quidditch stats at me," Ginny says with a wink. "And don't sell yourself short, we all know you're my biggest fanboy."

He kisses her again. "Nonetheless."

"Sadly, yes. You can show up in footie pajamas and apparently I still have the hots for you," Ginny says, wistfully as she grasps the zipper on his onesie again, drags him close enough that their lips almost touch.

As she tilts her head back, Ginny lifts her free hand to hold her wig in place. Harry's eyes dart upward, crinkle with laughter. "I would say I'm creepy for finding you this attractive in a me costume, but it's really a pretty terrible costume."

"Rude."

Harry tugs at a loose tendril of her hair. "Yeah?"

She tugs the zip on his front down further and slips her hand beneath. "Yeah."

Ginny clenches her fingers, gripping his t-shirt. Harry in turn, grasps her wrist. "What'cha looking for?"

"I'm just busy being disappointed that you're not naked under there," Ginny answers with a sigh.

"Wanna get out of here?"

In place of a response, Ginny grabs his collar and pulls him through the tipsy - drunken - mass filling the party and toward the floo. She turns, palm already open and waiting for Harry to drop his personal floo powder pouch into it. Instead, she finds Harry trying to fumble for the pouch through his onesie. "Alright there Harry?"

"Help?"

Ginny twitches her brow up. "Gladly."

Her eyes don't leave his as she slowly draws the zip down further, causing Harry's breaths to quicken as she reaches inside and lower. Her touch lingers at the draw of his joggers for just a moment before turning toward the pocket and reaching inside. Ginny pulls it out and dangles the pouch in front of his nose. "Gotcha."

Harry snatches it away and pulls Ginny tight to his side. He glances down, watching as she wraps her arms around his middle. "Get a good grip Mr. Potter."

"Don't let me go Mrs. Norris."

Grimmauld Place is dark, quiet aside from the tick of the clock on the mantle behind them as Harry and Ginny stumble from the fireplace. Ginny turns to step further into the living area though Harry's apparently not eager to let her leave his grasp. His arm stays banded around her middle, her back to his front and his lips increasingly enamored with her neck. And ear and - apparently just any bit of skin he can find.

"Take this off?"

"What?" Ginny asks, twisting around, her back arched away from him so she can look directly into his eyes.

"Ideally, as much as possible," Harry says with a laugh. His touch rises to her hair, and then suddenly a rush of cool air hits her scalp as the admittedly terrible wig falls from her head. "But I meant that."

Ginny winks. "You can leave your cat on."

That brings Harry to a halt, his palms paused at her waist where he's bunched her borrowed jersey. He blinks. "Really?"

His grip on her has loosened enough that Ginny can dart away and toward the staircase. Harry rounds the corner and follows her upstairs, taking them two at a time. Ginny turns back and grins. "Going to have to be faster than that."

"I have socks for shoes, Gin."

She shakes her head. "Too bad."

Harry's retort - whatever it was, ends with her jersey atop his head and her cackling laughter echoing from down the hall.

Eventually though, Harry catches up - if you ask Ginny it's purely because she wanted him to - and the evening ends with all costumes discarded until the next time Lee has a bright idea about 'getting the gang together.' Ginny drifts to sleep, Harry snuggled close behind, just as the clock strikes the witching hour.

Ginny wakes hours later, a short enough time that it feels like she simply blinked, to an insistent tapping at the window closest to her head and increasingly frantic pounding at the door.

A grunt is the closest Harry comes to acknowledging the forces currently invading their sleep. Ginny prods his side, but he simply cuddles closer. She tries to wriggle away, muttering, "My hero."

"S'just Ron," Harry grumbles, then in a louder growl, "Ron bugger off. We're engaged and tired."

Another thud at the door and then Ron says, "Not according to the Prophet."

Both Harry and Ginny jolt up at that, remarkably able to resist lingering on the swathes of skin revealed when they sit forward. Ginny turns when more taps sound at the window, there are at least three owls fighting for first access, Howlers smoking in their talons.

Ginny runs her hands through her hair, fingers catching on knots in the process. "Ron, what's in the Prophet?"

"Apparently Harry dumped you last night."

Harry kisses her shoulder and she can feel his grin against her freckles. "I most certainly did not, Ron."

"Ew, please don't sound so smug," Ron groans, "And I know. You two are gross."

"Stuff it," Harry shoots back, pulling at Ginny's elbow. "We're tired."

Another thud sounds at the door, likely the result of Ron kicking at it helplessly. Then a long sigh, "Me too, mate. Future reference, maybe keep the sassy faux break ups to non-public venues?"

Ginny twists beneath the sheets, slants her lips across Harry's, feels his body waking against hers. "Ron?"

Harry groans. "Please don't when things are picking up downstairs," he glances at his lap.

"Ron, go snog Hermione - or buy some earplugs," Ginny continues. When his muttering and footsteps fade down the hall, Ginny turns back to Harry. "And you, how about some 'partnered relaxation techniques'?"

He pulls her atop him and tucks his hands behind his head. "Have at it."